


on his knees, then

by Anonymous



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angry blow jobs, Blow Jobs, Cousin Incest, Erik lives, Heavy Angst, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sorry Not Sorry, Spoilers, i guess, not so accidental come marking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 11:42:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13740138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: how long are they going to dance around this?T'Challa fears, possibly forever.





	on his knees, then

**Author's Note:**

> obligatory fix - it fic with just porn, no plot.

“What do you want?” He’s really asking,  _ ‘Why do we keep doing this to ourselves?’ _

T’Challa stares down, dizzy with arousal and half breathless with need, watching as Erik tries to choke himself on his cock, again. It’s the third such encounter in a week, and it’s been three weeks in total since he refused to let his cousin die. 

He can’t answer T’Challa like this, of course, so he just grips  _ hard _ on his thigh, and puts his other hand between his legs, groping over himself, before eventually just undoing his pants and tucking the waistband under his own dick. 

Erik jerks himself off like he’s angry, and T’Challa puts a hand to the back of the man’s neck, urging him away, and off his cock. Erik just glares angrily at him, defiant and wounded. Dark eyes shining with unshed tears of rage, or regret, T’Challa isn’t sure. Maybe both.

“The fuck do you think? I wanted to die, you took that from me. So now, you gotta live with your mistakes.” 

T’Challa sighs heavily, and tries to ignore how his own cock twitches from the sight of Erik on his knees, touching himself. If he comes, right now, like this, he’ll paint the man’s face. If  _ he _ comes, he’ll ruin T’Challa’s fancy shoes that allow him to move silently through the city. A fair trade, he thinks. 

“I saved you because letting you die would have been a supreme waste. Surely you know this. You must understand-” His words cut off with a groan, and Erik swallows him down again, growling with frustration, the sound vibrating up through T’Challa’s body, forcing him that much closer. 

He rocks forward gently as he can, while reaching down, thrusting a hand into Erik’s wild hair, fingernails scraping over the man’s scalp, the nape of his neck. He feels how Erik’s pulse is racing, how quickly he’s going to lose himself into the back of the man’s throat. 

“You could be mine, you could be. I don’t just want this to be the only way we’re together.” 

He sees Erik’s hand stilling between his legs, and then ropes of white land in stuttering bursts over his shoes. T’Challa tries to clamp down on his own sounds, but he groans and gasps out the man’s name, coming in a sudden instant, as Erik pulls off, sucking the whole way, his free hand grasping over T’Challa, milking him completely. A few strands end up catching on Erik’s chin, his lips, his cheek. 

His hand moves to cup Erik’s face, a thumb rubbing clean the bottom lip. 

T’Challa wants to pull the man to his feet, put a stop to this nonsense by kissing away the anger and resentment. But that’s not going to work today. 

Maybe tomorrow. “Good afternoon,  _ your highness _ .” Only Erik can say it and make his title sound like a curse. T’Challa watches him leave, putting himself back together and wiping his shoes off before daring to leave his office. The slam of the door is loud enough to make his teeth ache. 

He hates this, this horrible thing between them. It feels like living a lie. It’s hardly a secret anymore. People have to be wondering, talking about when their king is going to take a partner, make an alliance with the throne.

T’Challa spins in his seat, and stares out the window at the sunset. All it makes him think of is Erik. 

How close they’d been to sharing a final glimpse of that glowing ember in the sky. 


End file.
